Time's Forever Frozen Still
by muchmoxie
Summary: In which Rumplestiltskin sends his wife on a quest to find some rather curious items, and Belle is determined to find out what he's hiding.


"For starters," Rumple says, drawing out his words slowly, "feathers."

Belle nods, but she's positively puzzled. She knows that he's more than competent enough to find his own ingredients for… well, whatever it is that he's making. He's been careful to keep her in the dark about that. He's excellent with magic, and everyone knows it – he's spent more years practicing magic than anyone in Storybrooke.

"And foxtails."

She can't help knitting her eyebrows together. "As in, a fox's tail?"

"Multiple tails, in fact," he replies, a smile spreading across his face. "Ten."

"These ingredients aren't in your shop? And you need _me _to get them for what reason?"

Well, she has to ask a few questions. She's no common idiot. Her years of study have not led her astray, although they could have done a better job of warning her against a certain sneaky man with a dark past who wormed his way into her heart. Not that she would've listened – she's always taken issue with authority.

"I have items with magical properties, but no actual ingredients," he says, coming out from behind the counter to rest his hands gently on her waist. "And why wouldn't I ask my wife to help me?"

She arches an eyebrow suspiciously. It's too smooth, too effortless. She knows his way of easing her mind when he wants to keep something from her.

Still, she knows the affection is genuine. And she could use something different, something interesting. A little adventure and a little puzzle solving never hurt anyone. She wraps her arms around his neck before asking, "where can I find them?"

* * *

><p>In all fairness, Rumple's map is concise and easy to follow. But the location of the feathers is quite a distance away, and she hasn't even looked at the extra map for the foxtails (she still can't wrap her head around how she's getting those).<p>

Rumple is hesitant to ever leave her side. If she has a paper cut, he uses his magic to heal it before she can even utter a word. Leaving her alone to wander through woods to find items that she's almost positive he could find himself? Odd behavior.

She's brought a hatchet, along with water and food – though the fruit mainly consists of apples. They're everywhere_. _And, okay, it might be just a little bit funny considering the history, but she'd be hard pressed to admit it.

Looking at the map, she finds that there's a small stream that serves as a halfway point, and when she arrives, there is only relief. The woods are absolutely unpleasant after several hours, and any change in the monotony of green and brown is welcome. She finds herself relaxing and wanting to stay.

She takes off her socks and boots, letting her feet rest in the cool, clean water. She leans back to lie on the grass and look at the sky. It's getting late, and something about this place feels like a home away from home. She'd have to find a place to sleep soon enough, right? What's the harm in sleeping here?

Before she can even start to change her mind, she is lulled by the soothing sounds of the stream crashing against rocks as she falls into a lovely dream.

* * *

><p>Her eyes open to a gray blue – dawn has arrived. She has to start moving.<p>

She gathers her bag, tugs on her boots and removes leaves from her hair, still contemplating just what it is that she's really doing here when she sees something unusual from the corner of her eye. It's a funny thing – Belle is a woman who's learned to be observant. She has realized that the small things come back to haunt you in one way or another.

Her parents had been wonderful people. Loving, kind, and adored by the kingdom. But that castle had been a tomb and a prison in several ways, and it wasn't a life for her. Not the life she wanted to live. She had always felt – perhaps foolishly, according to some – that she had the heart of a traveler, exploring new places and living by her own rules. She had books in the castle, oh yes, but even that wasn't enough. She clung to those books, clung to the exciting tales and hoped to someday live them out in some fashion.

Every word was an escape, every chapter a prize.

And she'd grabbed the book, t_hat _book, the last day she saw her mother. _Her Handsome Hero. _

She'd traced the inscription of the title a thousand times and flipped through the pages just to feel the smooth paper beneath her fingers. Her dress had been almost the same color as the cover. She remembered thinking that if she could etch it into her memory forever, she would.

When she finds the book so many years later, she takes it into her hands and repeats her old ritual. Tracing, flipping, only this time tears are in her eyes as she balances the beautiful memories with the terrifying ones.

Those once joyous moments now reminded her of stomping Ogre feet, her mother's scared eyes, the blackness that followed, and the look on her father's face when she awoke. She has never found a way to describe it.

This situation is different. When she turns to look up, it is not a small thing. It is large_. _

The colors blend into a gorgeous gradient – blue, pink, yellow, purple, green, and orange. At first glance, she might have thought that it was fireworks, but no. It's something else entirely, something magnificent. It's not in the sky, it _is _the sky. The hues fade in and out, mesmerizing her like Christmas lights on a brand new tree.

In the morning light, it is unlike anything that she's ever seen.

After several minutes, something changes. A speck of white begins, and she follows it closely. Curiously, the white starts growing and looping together, and she realizes that words are forming.

"_Hello, darling."_

Her mouth has fixed itself into a smile before she can stop herself, and she can't look away from the sight for a single second. She wouldn't dare. Before long, the white words morph into a rainbow of colors, too, and her eyes widen with wonder.

The air this morning is chilled, but she feels warm all over.

A few moments later, it's back to the color of dawn. It's a miracle, really, as she's not sure she ever could have looked down otherwise. She laughs and puts a hand on her rapidly pumping heart, thinking that if she focuses hard enough, maybe she can feel him there.

And as always, she can.

She can't help trekking onward with a little more pep in her walk.

* * *

><p>Belle's fairly certain that she's good at handling bad situations.<p>

But she did not expect this.

She's positive that she's at the correct location for the feathers, but there's nothing here at all. It's just an empty clearing. More accurately, there are things here – dirt, grass, trees. The same thing she's been seeing for miles upon miles.

She finds herself curling her hands into fists at her sides, frustrated beyond belief. Why can't she find them? Why is she looking for _feathers _and _foxtails _anyway? Never mind the fact that she has no idea how to get these things, now she doesn't even know where they are.

She sighs and sits down on the leaves, taking off her bag and grabbing the map from the front pocket before opening it. She frowns when she finds that she's exactly where she's supposed to be. She quells the urge to scream into the woods.

Alright, she'll just put the map down and think for a moment-

She freezes. There's a spot of bright yellow right where her hand is sitting on the ground. It looks unusual, to say the least. It doesn't fit with any of the scenery and it's so bright that it's almost blinding. The yellow spreads just a bit along the leaves. Orange, green, purple, pink, and blue follow it.

The same colors she'd seen earlier that day. Except they don't appear the same way, and they don't change from one to the next – it's more like a quilt, the shades netting together to make a collage of glory. She stands to her feet and watches it happen, all of it moving at a brisk pace to cover the entire clearing.

When it's done, she's taken aback by the vastness of it. There isn't a space left untouched.

She walks in a wide circle, testing to see if it feels any different. The leaves are an assortment of different colors now, after all, and so is the _dirt_. To her surprise, it doesn't feel any different than when she walked in. Same crunchy ground – if you ignore that it looks like a rainbow.

But why show this to her for a second time?

Her question is answered when, yet again, she sees a dot of white start curving in a familiar way near the edge of the clearing. The writing comes slowly and in increments. A few words at a time stay until they fade, new ones looping in.

"_Go to your next destination. I promise that all of your questions will be answered."_

It certainly has a different tone. More urgent, more clipped. A part of her wants to just retreat to Storybrooke, if only to spite him for the wild goose chase that he's sent her on. The other part trusts him wholly, trusts him more than she's ever trusted anyone, and she knows that trusting anyone this much isn't simply scary, it's downright terrifying. She realizes that it doesn't matter.

It's going to take a lot more than fear to make her back down.

* * *

><p>She starts by pulling out the extra map for the first time since she began her journey. It's the only place he could be alluding to, but she has no idea what she's expecting to find. When she opens it, she's surprised to see that it's very close – only about a mile away.<p>

As she heads west, she notices that there are many branches too thick to push through, and she's immediately thankful that she brought the hatchet. She knew this might happen – on previous hiking adventures, it had turned into a rather unexpected problem, and she'd ended up with her fair share of cuts and bruises.

After hacking her way through, she looks up and sees that there's a very clear path ahead of her. Not a hint of anything in the way. He wouldn't want anything to be difficult for her.

She follows the trail until it comes to an abrupt end, and when she checks the map, it's the right spot. Of course. She pushes a branch aside and she's greeted by a waterfall – stunning, sparkling and so dazzling that it looks almost magical.

She sits as close to the sight as she can, watching the water rush as she waits for something to happen. He has to have something planned. As soon as that thought passes her mind, she catches a glimpse of Rumple striding out of the woods, and she can't stop herself from grinning. It feels wonderful to see him, even if it's only been days.

"Now, what brings a lovely lady such as yourself out here?" he asks, coming to sit beside her.

She smirks. "Oh, the usual. A man and his promises."

"Ah. I did promise, didn't I?" he feigns surprise at his own actions. "Well, I must admit that this trip isn't exactly what I lead you to believe that it was."

She nods. "And the feathers and foxtails?"

"I'm afraid that those were already available in my shop."

"Of course," she rolls her eyes.

"Consider yourself lucky. The foxtails aren't easy to get your hands on," he confesses, and she can't stop herself from laughing. She starts laughing harder and harder, tears squeezing out of her eyes as she doubles over – and soon enough, he's laughing too. It eventually gets to the point where only squeaks are coming out and they both become quiet.

Suddenly, his face grows serious. He looks nervous and unsure of himself, and it dawns on her that it's an expression an older version of him would make. The one who believed he could never be anything but a villain, a monster, and worst of all – a coward.

"I lead you here to celebrate something. An anniversary... "

She waits for him to finish.

"For the day that we met," he says softly.

"I-" her throat struggles to form the words. "Rumple, how do you remember that? It was so long ago."

He pulls a piece of parchment out from the pocket of his finely tailored suit before unfolding it and resting it gently in her hands.

_July 11__th__. _

There is nothing else on the page, only that date. Somehow, it is everything. One piece of paper kept for years upon years. She stares at his careful handwriting and the slightly faded ink. He must have preserved it with magic, but only barely. It still looks old and worn.

And it is so very special.

"Why did you write this down? Why did you keep it all this time?"

She knows what it means to her, but she wants to know what it means to him.

"I wrote it because I knew that you were special. I knew that my life would never be the same," he raises a hand to stroke her cheek. "And I kept it because it was the only thing that kept me sane. When you didn't know who I was, I kept it to remind myself that we would find our way back to each other. The way that we always have."

He's giving her a look so full of love that it is painful.

Before she knows it, she's kissing him and he's holding her in his arms like he's afraid that she'll slip away if he doesn't. Their tongues swirl and dance as her lips mold to his as if they aren't meant for anyone else but him. And as far as she's concerned, they aren't.

The world around them is fading, and once again – it is them and only them that live in it. By the time that she pulls away, her lips are sore and she can barely breathe, but she doesn't care.

"I love you so much, Belle," he declares quietly, and she smiles brighter than she has ever smiled. It is the fever with which he speaks her name that sends shivers down her spine and makes her heart burn with a roaring fire – a fire that has burned for a lifetime.

"I love _you," _is all that she can reply with, because it really is that simple.

He picks up the parchment that had fallen beside her and holds it out to her. "This belongs to you now," he says, and she nods before putting it delicately in her bag.

He asks her where she intends to keep it, and she tells him that she doesn't know.

But that night, when she places it next to the chipped cup, she believes that she's found just the right spot.


End file.
